The Detective as Poet
by Ainmosni
Summary: Naoto tries to come up with a way to express her feelings to Kanji. Kanji x Naoto fluff. Takes place a few months after English True Ending. The poem is mine, all rights reserved. I do not own Persona though.


**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

A/N: More Kanji x Naoto fluff. Finals + a nasty cold = Ainmosni not being able to write anything longer (like the next chapter of Borderline of Madness). Enjoy. Please review and let me know what you think. I allow anon. comments. I really value your input. :)

Edit: I've fixed a few grammatical errors and tweaked the ending a bit. Special thanks to Rayless Night for her constructive criticism.

**The Detective as Poet**

_All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling. ~Oscar Wilde_

_Poetry is the music of the soul, and, above all, of great and feeling souls. ~Voltaire_

_Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them. ~Charles Simic_

Naoto had never been one for poetry. She felt it was best left to those who could manipulate words into art. She figured that it was better if she just stuck to solving cases and logical reasoning. Maybe a few detective novels and a film-noir movie here and there. The bottom line: poetry was just not her thing.

So what exactly had made her decide to spend her entire afternoon holed away in her grandfather's study, hunched over a spiral notebook, scribbling what she had decided was very bad poetry? The answer was quite simple really, but she didn't want to admit it.

Shaking her head, Naoto read over her last attempt. Finding it highly unsatisfactory, she tore the page out of the notebook, crumpled the paper, and tossed it toward the wastebasket. The balled-up paper bounced off the rim of the trashcan and landed on the floor amongst other discarded attempts.

Naoto sat back in her chair glumly and looked out the window. Rain was pounding against the glass. Just a few months ago a night such as this would have warranted a viewing of the Midnight Channel. But the time of Personas and Shadows and Investigation Teams had passed.

Yamato Takeru still buzzed at her incessantly though.

_So, are you going to give him a poem? Because if you are, you might want to, you know, write better._

Naoto glanced up in annoyance. "I'm aware of this. Thank you once again for your insightful nattering."

_I'm just saying..._

The door bell startled her.

"So much for writing anything," she thought. Yamato Takeru began chattering away but Naoto let the Persona's voice fade simply to white noise and stood up from the desk. She straightened her hat and headed down the stairs.

She arrived at the door just as the bell sounded a second time.

"Naoto, hurry up and open the goddamn door! I'm soaked!" A familiar voice sounded from the other side and Naoto hurried to undo the latch and open the door.

"Kanji-kun..."

The tall, blond punk stepped into the entry way and glanced at Naoto in slight annoyance. "What took you so long?"

Naoto glanced at Kanji in amusement. "You are getting water everywhere. Why didn't you bring an umbrella?"

"'cause it wasn't rainin' when I left." He set his soggy looking book-bag down.

"You did not watch the weather then?" Naoto suppressed a smile.

Kanji glanced at her. "Do I look like a guy with a plan?"

Naoto smiled. "Perhaps sometimes, but while you drip water all over my foyer, no. Not really. Let me get you a towel."

Naoto turned and headed back up the stairs toward the linen closet. She was surprised to hear the stairs creak behind her as Kanji followed her. She turned around to ask him why and came face to face with a bouquet of flowers.

"K-kanji..." She stammered looking from the flowers to him and back to the flowers.

"'s just a thank you, you know. For helpin' me study this week." He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks flushed.

"I..." She took the bouquet. "Thank you."

They stood facing each other on the stairs awkwardly, both unsure of what to say. The clock in the hallway ticked the silent seconds by.

Naoto broke the silence. "I-I'll go get that towel."

"Y-yeah." Kanji nodded and walked into the study.

Naoto reappeared with a towel a few seconds later. As Kanji dried his hair, Naoto placed the flowers in a cup of water--it was the best she could do. She had no vase.

"You been workin' already?" Kanji asked motioning to the large amount of crumpled up paper around the trashcan.

Naoto's face flushed. "W-well, not exactly..."

Kanji shook his head and began to uncrumple a page.

Naoto lunged forward. "No, Kanji-kun. That is not--"

Kanji turned and held the paper above Naoto's head. "You're such a damn perfectionist, you know that? Just cuz your work ain't perfect don't mean it ain't..." Kanji trailed off as he read the paper.

Naoto bit her bottom lip, her face burning. "Kanji, I..."

He looked up from the paper. "I didn't know you wrote poetry."

Naoto took the opportunity to snatch the sheet out of his hands. "I don't. At least, I shouldn't." She began to quickly gather the other crumpled up attempts. "I need to go shred--"

"Why?"

Naoto looked up at Kanji, stunned. "You don't think it's awful?"

Kanji shook his head. "I think 's real good. An' you know, whoever 's for, I mean, if it is..." He paused and looked down, slightly saddened. "They're real lucky."

Naoto stared at him. "Kanji-kun, these...look at me."

Kanji looked up. "What?"

Naoto blushed fiercely. "These were supposed to be for you. I-I didn't think any of them were good enough."

Kanji shook his head and stepped toward her. "Damn perfectionist." He hesitatingly reached out and brushed her hair behind her ear.

Naoto placed her hand on his cheek. His skin was rough, but not unpleasant. "I just wanted to tell you..."

"You already did." Kanji smiled and hesitatingly closed the space between their lips.

Naoto put her arms around him, the poem falling to the floor, completely forgotten:

_Rain on the face_

_Of the one you love_

_And bittersweet coffee_

_In an over-sized foam cup._

_A creaky air-duct,_

_Moth-eaten curtains,_

_And well-worn shoes_

_On old stained carpet._

_Dusty tomes_

_With yellowed pages,_

_The over-stuffed chair,_

_And you._


End file.
